by Will Wight
“Keep the wounded on the inside,” Mercy called. “If you have a shield and you’re in the outer ring, raise it up. I’ll clear the trees of dreadbeasts, but cover your eyes and close your ears.”
No one responded. They had all frozen in place.
[Mercy!] Dross shouted, appearing suddenly in front of her. [Sorry, that was loud, wasn’t it? Anyway, we need you.]
Mercy tried to twist and see if she could spot Lindon, who must be in trouble if he was sending Dross, but she couldn’t actually move her body. So Dross was projecting himself into her mind.
Her spiritual perception still worked, and she felt Lindon far behind her. It felt like he was a hundred miles away, but she recognized the dampening effect of the suppression field.
“Is Lindon okay? Did something happen?” When she spoke, she felt like she was moving her mouth, but she supposed she probably wasn’t. It was a strange sensation.
[No, but it’s about to,] Dross responded. [We need you. Against the Titan.]
“Got it.” When time unfroze, Mercy would put Jai Chen in charge and fly back into Sacred Valley.
Dross waved his tendrils in the air as though trying to shoo something away. [I don’t…ah, I don’t exactly know how to say this, but you…oh, well, actually I know exactly how to say this. What I need you to do, it’s going to hurt. A lot. Not permanently, I’m sure. Your family can fix you. They can fix you, right?]
“Yes, they can,” Mercy said firmly.
No matter what Dross wanted her to do, it wouldn’t hurt as badly as seeing Pride so badly hurt. She didn’t want to go through that again, not so soon, and not with Lindon and Yerin.
“What do you need from me?”
[Your bloodline,] Dross said.
“What do you want from me now?” Orthos rumbled.
He didn’t have the non-lethal abilities the others did, so he’d stuck to his strengths: running around and eliminating dreadbeasts, bloodspawn, and piles of debris that blocked the way of the humans fleeing down Mount Samara.
It had been surprisingly fun. And then Dross interrupted him.
[Normally, there’s nothing an Underlord can do to a Dreadgod. But since it’s in Sacred Valley, it’s a little more subject to physical laws—]
“Underlord? Who said I was an Underlord?”
[You…you know Lindon can feel you, right? If Lindon can feel it, I can feel it. He hasn’t been thinking about it, but it’s clear to me that you used the treasures inside Lindon’s void key to advance. That wasn’t supposed to be a surprise, was it?]
If Orthos could move his body, he would have turned away to chew on a nearby rock. Or some nice, soft wood.
[Even the others can sense you,] Dross went on, driving the knife deeper. [You had to know they would all recognize it immediately.]
“There is nothing wrong with a little celebration,” Orthos said with great dignity.
[N-no! No, and in fact, I can make it even better than a surprise! A huge event! You’ll really, ooohhh, you’ll really show them. They’ll say, ‘Underlord Orthos is so great, I can’t believe that we ever cared about him before. I really hate who he used to be. Compared to now, I mean. Just…just hate him.’]
That was possibly the worst sales pitch Orthos had ever heard.
But he was still intrigued.
“I’m listening,” he said.
Eithan’s entire body was pain.
He lay in a pile of twisted limbs in the rubble that had once been the peak of Mount Samara, silently counting his broken bones. He had blocked the madra with his own, then cushioned the impact of his fall with aura while strengthening his Archlord body with soulfire.
Even so, he hadn’t fully recovered his power since spending so long in Sacred Valley, and here he was back in it again. Not to mention that he had taken a blow from the Titan head-on.
There were parts of the world where “hitting like a Dreadgod” was a common saying. It did not do the experience justice.
He realized immediately when Dross contacted him and accelerated his perception of time. It happened when he was in the middle of tenderly extending one thread of madra to activate his void key, hoping to pull out some more of his medical supplies. He’d drunk more medicine than water, these past few days; clearly he was off his game.
“How many ways have you split yourself, Dross?” Eithan asked, before the spirit had fully manifested to him.
[Six,] Dross panted. [It’s…a lot, but I’m fine. Maybe. I’m probably fine.]
“Well, don’t waste your valuable time on me,” he said. “Just tell me my role.” He admired how sprightly his voice still sounded, despite the state of his ribs. And every other part of his body.
[Perfect! The Titan is going to throw a Striker technique at Lindon, and I need you to stop it from hitting him.]
“Where? I’m not quite as ambulatory as usual.”
[We’ll get you down, don’t worry. Just worry about stopping the technique. Please do worry about that.]
Eithan tried to make a gesture of agreement, but his hand was trapped beneath his body. And it pulsed with pain, except for his fingertips, which were completely numb.
That could be a problem, he thought.
“No problem!” he said.
Dross made a relieved sound and vanished, leaving Eithan alone to think. That was good, because he needed the time.
How was he supposed to block a Dreadgod’s technique in this condition?
When time froze, the pressure on Yerin didn’t let up. From her perspective, the sky was covered by the Wandering Titan’s foot, and while it hadn’t plunged down on her yet, it couldn’t be far off.
The pressure she felt was from the Titan’s spirit, pressing down on her almost as heavily as if the Dreadgod was already standing on her. She held her two swords above her, crossed white and black, and she had already begun filling them with madra and soulfire.
She didn’t know how many of those stomps she could take, but she wouldn’t be able to escape fast enough with its will weighing her down anyway. So she would weather the first one, then hope somebody else pulled the Titan off her before she was smeared to paste.
Yerin had prepared herself, so when Dross showed up, he was more of a distraction than anything.
“Spit it out,” Yerin growled. She was still under the Dreadgod’s spiritual pressure, and time not passing was only extending that agony.
Dross breathed harshly as he spoke. [Sorry…I’m…doing a lot…right now.]
Even in her situation, Yerin felt concern worry its way into her heart. She couldn’t exactly move her eyes, but she focused on Dross. “You solid, Dross?”
He fixed her with a stare, pulling himself together. [Yeah, no problem, nothing to worry about. Listen, we need something from you, but it’s going to be…it won’t be much fun for you, I’ll say that.]
“You see where I’m standing right now, true? Would you contend I’m on a holiday?”
[We need you to hold the Titan in place so Lindon can hit it. You’ll need to use your sword.]
She shifted her attention to her master’s blade. For the most part, she had avoided using its binding since advancing during the Uncrowned King tournament. “Madra’s not like it used to be. Could use Netherclaw, if that’ll work.”
[It, uh, it won’t.]
A queasy sense of nausea passed through her. “Sword will make it through, though, right?”
Dross hesitated.
“Dross?”
[I think this is one of those times where I’m supposed to lie, but I don’t have a whole lot of time. You’ll have to overload the sword. No way around it, unless you’re ready to advance to Archlord. That would solve a lot of my problems today, actually.]
Even if she were, she couldn’t do it here in Sacred Valley, and Dross knew that.
“Winter Sage. She can fix it, though, true?”
Dross bobbed upward in the air as he brightened. [Could be! That’s certainly a real possibility!]
No sense hes
itating. She had agreed to risk her life here, for people that Lindon didn’t even really know. She’d be cracked in the head if she wasn’t willing to risk one weapon.
“Got it. Grab my eye when you want me.”
[I’ll have to signal the others, but you…just do it when the foot comes down, all right?]
“Not likely to forget that one.”
[You won’t have to remember it for long, because I can’t hold this anymore. You ready?]
She tried to nod. Dross must have gotten the picture, because the world came roaring back to normal speed.
The Titan’s foot came down.
19
Lindon didn’t hear what Dross said to the other five. He just felt the spirit splitting his attention so many different ways, and time stood still while Dross delivered his instructions.
When he finished, everything happened at once.
The Titan’s foot came down. Yerin’s madra flared beneath it, so powerful that it felt like she was pouring her entire spirit into one attack. But it wasn’t an attack; white mist and points of ice-cold light burst into being around her, consuming the Titan up to the knee.
Its foot landed, but was frozen in place. Lindon was astonished at the power output of the weapon, but it was overshadowed by worry for Yerin.
Not that he had time to dwell on it. There was too much else going on.
Green rings had bloomed one after the other, stretching off to the south. Ziel flew through the air like an arrow, each ring of script hurling him into the next. Lindon wondered why Ziel hadn’t used that technique to escape, but his question was answered by a quick scan of his spirit.
He was straining his channels and running out of madra. He couldn’t keep this up for long.
As he flew in, another spiritual presence caught Lindon’s attention. Mercy dashed in, covered in her Akura bloodline armor, and she wasn’t flying. She was running.
She was already the size of a tall building, and she carried something tucked under her right arm.
No, Lindon realized what the object was as soon as he noticed it.
It was Orthos, all curled up in his shell.
Orthos, whose body was slowly filling with soulfire.
When the Titan found its leg stuck by Yerin’s technique, it threw a punch at Mercy. A golden nimbus covered its fist: the original version of the Enforcer technique the Abyssal Palace cultists had used.
The wind from the punch was like the breath of a hurricane.
Mercy slipped under the punch. Her armor was still growing, and Lindon knew from his experience with Harmony—and his own research—how much of a burden the armor put on the spirit. The larger it was, the harder it was to control. But she moved with liquid grace as she ducked the punch.
Then she took a lightning-quick tail to the breastplate.
It cracked, and Lindon fully expected the armor to shatter. Instead, despite what must have been horrific spiritual pain, she braced her feet and stood her ground.
As she did, Mercy lobbed Orthos through the Dreadgod’s legs.
And the turtle began to grow.
Soulfire burned away by the second as it expanded Orthos’ body. He landed with legs the width of tree trunks, but they grew to cover houses in a moment. Soon, he was half the height of the Titan.
The Dreadgod turned over its shoulder, madra building between its jaws.
[That’s your cue!] Dross shouted.
On his Thousand-Mile Cloud, Lindon shot forward.
No matter how much madra he poured into the cloud, it would be a few seconds before he reached the Titan. It would have shoved Mercy back and released its technique on Orthos by then. Dross had called him in too late.
Green light flared behind Lindon.
He couldn’t spare the attention to turn and watch, but he wished he could. His spiritual senses treated him to the feeling of Eithan flying through the air like a thrown spear.
He was kept aloft by his own aura control, so Ziel’s circle only added acceleration. As he flew closer, Lindon heard a voice, which started soft and steadily grew louder as its source approached.
“Jump!” Eithan called as he flew past Lindon’s face.
Mercy endured another heavy blow, falling to one knee under the pressure. The Titan unleashed a stream of powerful earth madra with its breath. Orthos shoved himself into position, and—though he took a glancing blow on his shell that left cracks and a lancing pain that Lindon could feel through their bond—he and Mercy managed to wrestle the Dreadgod around to face Lindon.
It didn’t cut off its Striker technique. As it braced itself on its tail, it refocused on the next target it saw: Eithan, whose madra was blazing like a beacon.
Lindon expected Eithan to take the hit on his Hollow Armor, but Lindon had been given his instructions. He jumped.
Eithan reversed direction in a burst of force aura, shoving himself down and to one side. The Titan’s Striker technique streaked past in a thundering stream of bright golden light.
The river of madra passed over both Eithan and Lindon’s heads.
It tapered out almost immediately as the Titan returned its attention to Mercy and Orthos, grabbing one in each hand.
Lindon dragged his Thousand-Mile Cloud down to him, and once again it caught him.
He saw what Eithan had done. If the Titan had noticed Lindon, that blast would have been on target, and it might have even moved its head to follow Lindon as he fell. Instead, Eithan had drawn its attention upward.
By falling suddenly, Lindon had ducked it.
Orthos roared, and now that he was empty of soulfire, he was truly gigantic. While not a match for the Dreadgod, he was at least the size of a large dog compared to the Titan.
But he was still just an Underlord.
No matter how weak the Wandering Titan had become, and no matter the equalizing effect of the suppression field, Orthos was no match for a Dreadgod under any conditions. His shell splintered as the Dreadgod’s grip tightened, and Orthos would be torn apart in moments.
Lindon tried to send reassurance through their bond. Orthos didn’t need to hold on for long.
Lindon was coming.
He landed a moment later on the back of the Titan’s neck.
And with all his will, he began to Consume.
Lindon had fed on the thoughts and memories of the Wandering Titan before, so he knew what to expect this time. Even so, he was almost overwhelmed on every front.
The madra threatened to break his arm, and to be too much for his Heart of Twin Stars to process. The memories and impressions flooded Dross, poised to drown Lindon’s identity. And the willpower, titanic and voracious, crashed into Lindon’s like an avalanche.
Lindon was tossed in a whirlpool of the Wandering Titan’s emotions, but they weren’t the timeless fury that he had expected.
He felt frustration.
Irritation.
Dissatisfaction.
Exhaustion.
He had come here to satisfy its eternal hunger. He’d followed the scent of the one thing that could end its suffering, only to find that it wasn’t here. The trail was cold. And now he was being kept awake by some annoying, buzzing flies when all he wanted to do was eat and then sleep.
No, he wasn’t. The Titan was.
It was hard to tell the difference.
He broke contact with a gasp, his head pounding. The Titan rumbled beneath him, and this was as far as Dross had guided Lindon.
It’s working too hard, Lindon reported to Dross. I want to…it wants to leave. We can drive it out.
The Dreadgod tossed Mercy down, and her armor shattered. Essence covered the valley in a luminous violet cloud.
It dragged a struggling Orthos in its left hand, like a forgotten toy.
Slowly, the Titan turned back to Mount Samara again, and this time Lindon knew why.
It wasn’t focused on cracking open the mountain and getting to the treasure inside, though Lindon was certain there was another one in there. It didn’t even
care to eradicate the people trying to escape.
It just wanted out of the suppression field. And this mountain was in its way.
First, it had thought this mountain might be its ancient home, but a long inspection had determined that not to be the case. It simply felt wrong.
This was not home. Not quite.
The Titan lifted the giant Orthos, and Lindon’s stomach twisted as he realized what it was about to do. It was about to hurl Orthos at the mountain.
[Deeper!] Dross shouted. [Dig deeper!]
This was the one chance Dross had seen of them driving off the Dreadgod.
The Titan abandoned targets that cost it too much energy. And Lindon could take that energy away directly, but he could only hold so much. His arm had limits, and so did he.
Though he hadn’t rested enough, he returned his right hand to the stony skin and once again used Consume.
As the Titan’s power crashed over him again, Lindon knew immediately that they weren’t going to make it.
This amount of energy loss was nothing to the Titan. It was vaguely aware that there was some kind of flea draining its spirit, but it couldn’t be bothered to deal with him yet. Lindon could drain its power all day, and maybe then tire the Titan enough to make it a little sleepy. But before that happened, it would have long since swatted Lindon away.
And that was the Titan already weakened by the suppression field.
Dross groaned. [I was really hoping this would work. It’s been in Sacred Valley a long time. There were good odds.]
Orthos was raised high over the Titan’s head, ready to throw.
What do we do? Lindon begged.
Time slowed one more time. Distantly, Lindon was surprised that Dross still had enough power left to do this, but he didn’t have time to worry.
[Hey, Lindon. You wouldn’t…you wouldn’t throw me away, would you?]
Dross sounded nervous all of a sudden, and Lindon’s heart dropped as he wondered what the spirit was about to propose. Am I not going to like this?
[I just, well, I’m not exactly proud of this, but I’ve always been afraid of being thrown away. Please, just keep me around.]
